HAPPY AS A CLAM

This morning, eating my breakfast at Two Boots (my favorite haunt in Park Slope), I thought that at least for the moment I was "happy as a clam."

As I should be. Things could be better (on the employment front) but things could also be much, MUCH worse . . . !

And then, of course, it started . . . the brain, which hadn't dared to start prior to the first sip of iced coffee, lest it strain itself unnecessarily . . .

Just how happy is a clam?

Why are clams purported to be so damned gleeful?

Is it "low expectations"? Does a clam not expect that much--and therefore it doesn't take much to make one of them happy?

Do they keep life simple? Free from too much stress? Even before they end up on ice, are they staying cool?

And if they are successful at doing this--as most of us homo sapiens are NOT . . . are we then not even as smart as clams? Let alone, infrequently as happy . . . ?

Perhaps we should take a lesson from our mollusk friends and just keep our big fat bivalves shut . . .

Ah, to be as happy as a clam . . . discuss amongst yourselves . . . !